


Feathers and words

by Ruis



Category: Abrahamic Religions, Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 05:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21404686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruis/pseuds/Ruis
Summary: The tiny feather floated to the ground, unnoticed by the majority of walkers. Only one man was able to observe it from the corner of his eye. That observer had been carefully chosen.
Relationships: Male Angel/Male Human
Kudos: 7
Collections: Male Slash Flash Exchange 2019





	Feathers and words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smallredboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/gifts).

The tiny feather floated to the ground, unnoticed by the majority of walkers. Only one man was able to observe it from the corner of his eye. That observer had been carefully chosen.

An innocuous little thing the feather was, landing next to his foot, sparkling off-white in the last rays of the setting sun, a beautiful thing on the gravelly path. Still, beautiful or not, Will would have put it out of his mind immediately, dismissing it as something lost by one of the thousands of pigeons populating the park and leaving their droppings all over the statues of forgotten famous people on horseback, if not for... With a sigh and a last glance at the empty page, he closed his notebook and slid it into his backpack. Not a single word had been put down on paper. (And how would he even start?) This particular story would not be written today.

“You again”, he said without much inflection. A pigeon would have been easier to accept, easier to believe. Quiet laughter followed Will when he stood up brusquely from the weathered park bench and took a few steps. 

The very air moved behind his back in a way that could not quite be ascribed to the chilly wind of the early evening. It was warmer, more personal, more friendly – if indeed friendly was an attribute that could be ascribed to air. Will froze in his tracks, almost colliding with a young woman pushing a baby stroller. Only barely he registered her angry words, only belatedly gathered enough wits to stammer an apology when she was already too far away to hear. It did not matter. Still, unexpectedly, Will found himself glad. Glad that he had not been dreaming, glad that he could write something true and wonderful this time, but also – and mostly – glad this meant he was really not alone.

“So you have not forgotten”, was the reply. Despite all his disbelief, Will had to snort at that. How could Will forget him, ever, even when accepting him as truth was another matter entirely?

Will had not forgotten, was not afraid. He turned around, not discomfited anymore by the man sitting on his favorite park bench with promises in his eyes and promises in his words, a man who had not been there a few heartbeats ago. (Or had he? For how long?) Will could only smile helplessly, straining his eyes in vain to catch a glimpse of wings currently not visible. A glance to the ground confirmed that another feather was not there, either. He did not quite believe, but certainly that did not mean he could not love. Now that was a proper beginning. Will resisted the urge to take out his notebook again, instead sat back down again, a bit closer than he would usually do with strangers, took his hand and listened to the angel’s murmured words.

He smiled at the memory of wings enfolding him, of strong arms pulling him even closer. Tonight he would be loved, again. And then he would write.


End file.
